Last night I went in to check on Oliver, our 19 month-old, before I went to sleep. Ethan and I do this every night because we know he won’t be little forever and those moments are precious. And he’s just so darn cute when he’s sleeping.
Back to my check-in: I slowly opened the door and encountered a mass blocking me. The little guy had brought his pillow over and fallen asleep right inside the door. He does that oftentimes, brings his pillow over and lays by the door, but that was the first time we’d found him sleeping there. Ethan scooped him up, snuggled him, and we tucked him back into his bed, chuckling together about his sweet antics.
He likes the light, we’ve discovered. He comes to the door because his room is dark and there’s a crack of light under the door that he’s drawn to. He knows his mommy and daddy are out there in the light and it’s comforting to be close to it, to snuggle up in that slice of brightness.
And brightness shines most brilliantly in the darkest of places, does it not? When our rooms, our lives, become so dark that the strain to find even the tiniest pinprick of light exhausts us, we can rest in the knowledge of His light being inside of us. We don’t have to search for it because Christ is the light of the world and as long as He has invaded your soul, you are the light. His Spirit now fills you and pours buckets of light out of every cell. Do you believe it? I do – I know it. Because no matter how palpable my darkness has been, I’ve known without a doubt that I’m not alone. Afflicted? Yes, but not crushed. Perplexed? Of course, but not driven to despair. Struck down, but not destroyed. I don’t lose heart because I’m being renewed day by day. This light momentary affliction I’m muddling through is preparing for me an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as I look not the the things that are seen, but to that which is eternal (my paraphrase of 2 Corinthians 4:8-9, 16-18).
So this little light of mine? I’m gonna let it shine. I won’t let Satan blow it out, I won’t hide it under a bushel, but I’ll set it on a hill, because someone out there is going to need to bring their pillow and find comfort in that light until they realize that they can have their very own.